


Comfortably Numb

by chipofftheoldblock



Category: Batman v Superman: Dawn of Justice, DC Cinematic Universe
Genre: First Kiss, Identity Porn, M/M, Past Clark Kent/Lois Lane, Post-Batman v Superman: Dawn of Justice, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-17
Updated: 2017-03-17
Packaged: 2018-10-06 12:43:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,018
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10334990
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chipofftheoldblock/pseuds/chipofftheoldblock
Summary: Clark tried really hard to throw the flowers out all morning, he really did, but then he could hear his mother's voice in his head telling him not to be ungrateful for a gift and that they were probably really expensive and Mr Wayne had obviously gone to some effort for him, and so they stayed on the corner of his desk all day as a mark of shame for Lois to giggle at.Clark just wants to write a story about Bruce Wayne. Bruce Wayne has other ideas.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This was written mainly when I was meant to be doing uni work. Title is from Pink Floyd's 'Comfortably Numb', mainly because I needed a title and that song was playing.
> 
> Totally unbeta'd, so all mistakes are mine. Also, disclaimer: I don't own DC comics, unfortunately, so not my characters.

Here, there are two cities.

The first is a sprawling, parasitic mess of Gothic architecture and storm clouds, corruption and crime and rust combining to clog the air of the city with the sweet smog of immorality.

This is Gotham.

The second is a shiny, ordered beacon of light, an ode and altar to order and goodness. The only smog here is that sent up by the factories, and even that is more clean steam than pollution.

This is Metropolis.

And these are both within an hour of one another - half an hour, if you take the ferry.

Funny, that.

***

Gotham City. Late at night.

The usual clouds hang over the city, and the police zeppelins are out in force tonight as they scour the streets with their spotlights. Moonlight struggles through gaps in the clouds like a drowning man gasping for air, providing nothing more than an eerie feel to the night.

And, as ever, as it had been for the last twenty years, there was the bat symbol on the clouds - a light to remind everyone that the police were not the only form of justice in this city.

Below, in an alleyway, a flicker of movement.

Clark watched with interest from high above. A mugging was happening down below. Normally he’d be in like a shot ( _a flash_ was taken, nowadays) to intervene, but when Batman had called him over to Gotham, he’d made it pretty clear that Superman was not to interfere in his city. Clark had reluctantly agreed. But in this case, it was okay – right now, he knew something the mugger didn’t.

Batman was in the shadows behind him.

The fight was over fast – fight was probably generous, if he was being honest. Batman broke both the guy’s nose – he could hear the crunch of bone and cartilage – and his spirit in just one hit. "Alright - just don't kill me!" The mugger threw up one hand, other holding his nose as he scurried off into the darkness of the alley, and Clark watched him go.

He enjoyed the rare occasions he got to see Batman fight, honestly. There was a huge difference in the way he and Batman fought – he was always able to rely on superior strength, whereas fully human Batman (he’d x-rayed him, just to be sure – and he was a little offended by the lead-lined cowl too) had to improvise, out-think and out-manoeuvre his enemies.

After Clark’s crushing defeat and death, he’d learned that maybe he shouldn’t just rely on his strength and abilities. Sometimes, he needed to think outside the box. Any fighting classes were out of the question, and he couldn’t outright ask Batman for help, but even just watching Batman he found he’d picked up a couple of tricks.

Maybe sometimes, it was better to dodge a bullet, even if you could take the hit.

Below, Batman turned and tilted his head upwards. Even though Clark knew he was high enough not to be seen, he still felt weirdly exposed. Like Batman knew exactly where he was.

Below, Batman smirked and grapple-gunned up onto a nearby roof.

Clark was down in an instant, a respectable distance away. Despite being in the middle of an exposed rooftop, Batman still managed to lurk in the shadows – more a darker shade of black among darkness than a real person. Only his heartbeat gave him away to Clark.

Sometimes Clark was tempted to tune into Batman’s heartbeat midday, use it to work out who he was in reality. But that felt – wrong, somehow. Despite how they’d met – at least, how he was told they’d met; Clark didn’t have any memory of anything from a few days before his death onwards – they’d managed to cultivate a working relationship. If Batman had anything as trivial as friends, Clark liked to think he was one of them.

As much as you could be friends when neither of you knew the other’s real name.

He realised suddenly he was staring in the silence – seriously, that was the problem with Batman, everything was a competition, even silence and who’d break it first – and finally spoke. “What can I do for you, Batman?”

Batman smirked slightly again – because, of course, Clark had lost – and ground out his words. “I have a lead on one of Cobblepot's weapons distributors - his name is Robert Ellis. I need more information about where and how he operates, but I can't risk using a bug. He's attending the Gotham City Firefighter's Fundraiser tomorrow night. I need you there undercover to listen to his conversations and find an address."

No words lost in greeting, small talk, anything trivial – it was always business. Clark would be lying if he said he didn’t want to know a little more about who Batman was under the cowl, but respected the decision he’d made about his identity. But at the same time, the idea of small talk with Batman was a little unnerving. What would they even talk about? World politics, the latest movies in the cinemas, the latest celebrity scandals? The thought almost made Clark laugh. He couldn’t imagine Batman being interested in what the rich and famous got up to, somehow.

Realising Batman was waiting for an answer, he nodded his head. “I’ll be there.” Perry had him assigned to the event, anyway, so it worked out well. “Is that everything?” He risked a slight smile, and received a withering glare that just made him smile wider.

“I’ll be back here two nights from now.” That seemed to be the end of the conversation, and Batman had already dismissively turned his back on him.

“I’ll see you then.” Clark tried for friendliness, and could practically _feel_ the hostility radiating off of Batman. His city, indeed. Well, Clark would leave it alone then.

He lifted gently off the ground, heading back across the bay to Metropolis.

***

A major issue he had, Clark thought pensively as he fiddled with his bowtie in the mirror, was that he never made plans beforehand – he never thought things fully through.

It was one of his character flaws. Article due in for the Planet? Panic write it the night before. Burning building? Just save as many people as he could as fast as he could. Dramatically die impaling Doomsday with a Kryptonite spear, with no real plan on how to explain away the death of both identities without people realising they were the same person?

Thank god for Lois Lane.

She'd fixed everything. She'd covered up his death, even while mourning him - 'Daily Planet Reporter Clark Kent Killed Reporting Gotham Battle' had been a particular stroke of genius, he had to admit - she'd helped him come back from the dead by explaining it away as him having been badly injured and marked down as a John Doe in a Gotham Hospital (Perry had been so pleased that Clark wasn't actually dead that he hadn't noticed the obvious plot holes in the story), and then she'd set the engagement ring down on the desk in front of him and asked him to please not speak to her for two weeks.

That was fair. That was more than fair. He'd been dead for a month before he clawed his way out of the grave, dirt covering the best suit he'd ever owned. He'd just about given his Mom a heart attack when he showed up on the back porch leaking cemetery earth everywhere. He could hardly expect Lois to take it any better.

And - maybe it had been a long time coming anyway. Superman saved so many people, but the one person he couldn't save was Clark Kent - Clark never spent enough time at home. The ring was a last-ditch attempt to show he wanted to try harder, make things better.

Last-ditch attempts never work. Consider that a life lesson learnt.

He let out a sigh, adjusting the bowtie and then leaning forward against the sink, forehead resting against the mirror. He could do this. He'd gone toe-to-toe with literal supervillains. He'd died and come back to life. Nothing scared him.

Except for Gotham's elite. Really, Batman? Couldn't have picked a better place and time?

At least he had more than just Batman as motivation to attend - people who thought Batman was the most intimidating person on the planet had clearly never encountered Perry White ("Kent, I wouldn't care if you died for a damn year, you are still covering the fundraiser tonight!").

He brushed some imaginary dirt off the shoulder of his suit - he was well aware he'd be woefully under dressed for the occasion, given the likes of Bruce Wayne would be attending - and glanced at his watch.

OK, so it started at eight. The time was 7:45 at the moment. He'd be early, but that was probably best.

Press pass and notepad - now that he had those, he didn't really have any more excuses to delay.

From the roof of his apartment building, it was easy to take off in the darkness with no one seeing. Even cruising at less than his usual breakneck speed, he still made the flight over to Gotham in little less than 3 minutes. He alighted in a back alley next to the venue, attempted to smooth out his suit, and headed around the corner to the party.

***

The first Clark heard of Bruce Wayne arriving was when the deep rumble of an expensive sports car sounded in the distance, increasing until even the people around him could hear it. Then there was the sudden increase in camera flashes outside, along with raised voices ("Mr Wayne!" "Mr Wayne, over here!"), and finally the footsteps of the man himself as he entered the room.

Despite the fact that he was, as far as Clark could tell, just another rich idiot, he did command attention. And he dressed annoyingly well. Clark shifted uncomfortably and adjusted his suit jacket again, suddenly becoming aware of how poorly dressed he was just by proxy to Bruce Wayne.

Wayne wore an excellently tailored midnight grey suit, combined with a dark blue tie just the right shade to set off his eyes, and - holy shit, when did this become something Clark cared about? Okay, he could acknowledge that Wayne was attractive (and had a really great ass, a traitorous part of his brain added), but the man was one of the single most irritating people he'd ever had the displeasure of being in the same room as. As far as he could recall from his slightly foggy memories, they’d met exactly once before, at Luthor’s party - Wayne had snarked at him, he'd bit back, and they'd parted badly.

He shook his head slightly to clear it, turning to survey the rest of the room. He had a busy night ahead of him - not only did he need to find out enough to write a reasonable article about the event, but he also needed to work out just who the hell Robert Ellis was, and then anything that might help Batman take him down. He did not need Bruce Wayne distracting him.

***

Two hours in, and Clark had nothing.

Okay, nothing was an exaggeration. He had all the boring reporter stuff done and out of the way, and he'd gotten several good (and printable, even) quotes about the event. He'd also had an incredibly terrifying conversation with a drunk old lady who'd enlightened him for the better part of ten minutes about her late husband who'd apparently looked just like him, and wasn't that such a strange coincidence, she did miss her dear old Frank, oh he'd been such a strapping lad in his youth -

Clark counted himself lucky to have escaped with his life.

Now, he was sitting on a stool at the bar counter, trying to work out who Robert Ellis was among the throng of people. Sure, super hearing was all well and good, but nobody appreciated just how hard it was to use in settings like this.

To make matters worse, Bruce Wayne was also now standing beside him.

"I'm gonna need a - whoa -" Wayne stumbled slightly on his feet "- a - a - thing. Y'know? The thing you clean up other things with. A - napkin! Yeah!"

A quick glance took Clark that somehow a drunken Wayne had managed to spill champagne all down the front of his nice suit - so probably not his first champagne of the night, then. But despite the stumbling, and the drunken slurring, there was something not quite right about this scene -

Shit. Clark's quick look had not been as quick as he'd thought. Wayne had noticed him looking, and was now giving him a charming grin. At least, he was trying. The effect was kinda ruined by the fact that he seemed unable to decide which version of Clark to look at.

Finally settling on the right one, he pointed a wavering finger at Clark. "You. I remember you from somewhere." Wobbling on his feet, he grabbed onto Clark's shoulder to steady himself.

Clark valiantly tried not to think about how warm his hand felt.

"Yes, Mr Wayne. We met at one of Lex Luthor's parties."

"Kent, right? Kent Clark or something?"

The predatory look in Wayne's eyes made Clark slightly nervous, even if the guy was clearly drunk enough to make Dionysus envious. "Clark Kent." He considered for a moment, then added "Daily Planet Reporter."

"Yeah, that's right. I -" Wayne gathered his senses enough to prod Clark in the chest - "I own you." The grin he gave next was far too indecent for a public place, and Clark could feel heat creeping up the back of his neck at the attention.

Luckily, he seemed to have a guardian angel or something looking out for him, because the next thing Clark knew, someone - he vaguely recognised the guy as working for Wayne? - was scooping Wayne up and apologizing for him.

As Wayne was led away, throwing a drunken smirk back over his shoulder, Clark suddenly realised what was wrong - he had no alcohol on his breath.

***

In the end, Clark found Robert Ellis and overheard the information he needed, but his mind still remained more on Bruce Wayne than Batman.

***

"- Earth to Clark Kent?"

"Mhmmm?" Clark jerked his head up, eyes focusing on Lois. Unimpressed Lois.

"I've been trying to get your attention for at least five minutes." She said. "What are you even doing that's so important, anyway?"

"Nothing much - just research for a story -" But she was already around his side of the desk, peering at the computer screen with a smirk.

"Bruce Wayne?"

"I'm just looking into his background for a story." Clark defended himself, his cheeks growing hot.

"It must be a hell of a story - you've got, like, five tabs open on the guy. His parents' deaths, his disappearance, his partying lifestyle - the scandal when he showed up to a party with a guy as his date -" She eyed Clark, eyes narrowed. "Do you have the hots for Bruce Wayne?"

"What? No - just - I bumped into him at the fundraiser last night. He was blackout drunk, but something just seemed - weird - about him. I was just looking into him." Now the tips of his ears were hot with embarrassment, too. It was the truth, but it did feel a little creepy to just Google the guy.

"Uh huh." Lois seemed almost satisfied by the explanation, and she might have even left it at that if it weren't for what happened next.

"Kent!" Perry's voice echoed through the office. "Got a package for you!"

The 'package' was set down none too carefully in front of him, and turned out in fact to be a bouquet of flowers - white lilies of some sort, if he had to take a guess. And the label - oh God -

In neat, blunt handwriting: _Apparently I made a poor impression last night. Dinner to fix that? - BW._

Clark made a strangled noise while Lois cackled. "Just research for a story, huh? Looks like Wayne thinks it's more than that."

***

Clark tried really hard to throw the flowers out all morning, he really did, but then he could hear his mother's voice in his head telling him not to be ungrateful for a gift and that they were probably really expensive and Mr Wayne had obviously gone to some effort for him, and so they stayed on the corner of his desk all day as a mark of shame for Lois to giggle at.

***

 **From:** c.kent@dailyplanet.com  
**To:** brucewayne@wayne.enterprises.com  
**Subject:** Flowers

Mr Wayne,

Thank you for the flowers – they’re very nice. However, I am not interested in dinner with you. Please don’t take this personally – I’m just currently not looking for any commitments.

Yours sincerely,  
Clark Kent.

***

 **From:** brucewayne@wayne.enterprises.com  
**To:** c.kent@dailyplanet.com  
**Subject:** Re: Flowers

Dear Mr Kent,

I’ll try my hardest not to be offended.

Yours, Bruce.

***

Well, that was easy. Wasn’t Bruce Wayne meant to be notorious for not taking no for an answer?

It was only later that he realised it had been way too easy.

***

(Superman met with Batman that night, and passed on the information about Robert Ellis. Batman was in a weirder mood than usual – he actually almost smiled at Clark – and Clark filed that under ‘deeply suspicious’.

The next morning in the Daily Planet break room, Clark watched news coverage of Batman’s work the night before, and smiled.)

***

It started two days later.

A package - another one, god help him - slammed down on his desk by Perry, along with a message of, "Stop getting your shit delivered to the office, Kent!" Clark could only murmur out an apology, gritting his teeth as he looked down at the box. He'd recognise that blunt handwriting anywhere - hadn't the man said he was going to stop?

With Lois hanging eagerly over his shoulder, he unwrapped the box to reveal - chocolates. A bit of a let-down, really, until Lois said, "Holy shit, these are expensive."

Apparently, they were imported from Switzerland, where chefs created them from unicorn horns and virgin tears - Clark didn't know, he stopped listening once Lois really got going. As nice as they looked, they weren't really his thing, and so he forced Lois to take them.

That was the first day.

The next day, it was flowers again.

(They were roses, this time - a deep, rich red, the colour of blood. Clark tensed his jaw and dropped them straight into the trash. He'd seen enough red to last a lifetime.)

The next day, it was lunch for the entire office.

("Your boyfriend is actually the best." Lois said enthusiastically around a mouthful of a prosciutto and rocket ciabatta roll. Clark glared at his sandwich so fiercely the salad wilted slightly.)

Clearly emails were not going to cut it. It looked like this might actually involve talking to Wayne again.

***

The doors into Wayne Enterprises were intimidatingly huge. Clark took a breath and shook his head slightly. He could do this. He was going to march in there, go up to Wayne’s office and tell him to stop. Done. Easy. He could do this.

The first thing that went wrong was the receptionist recognising him, which was a little terrifying. “Oh, Mr Kent?”

“Uh – yeah. I’m here to see Mr Wayne?” The receptionist gave him – not a smirk, but a _knowing smile_ , something that up until now he had never seen anyone actually use in reality except maybe Lois.

“Certainly, sir. It’s the elevator just over there.”

***

The elevator wasn’t gold-plated, but it was the first elevator Clark had ever been in that actually played elevator music, so that was something.

***

A gentle chime let Clark know he'd arrived, and he stepped out into the top floor of Wayne Tower. He huffed a breath, set his shoulders and walked over to the secretary’s desk. “Is Mr Wayne in?”

The secretary looked up and beamed at him, which made him a little nervous. “Of course, Mr Kent. Just go right through.” She pointed out a door on the far side of the room.

Clark took a breath – _Christ_ this was a struggle – and headed over to knock gently on the door ostentatiously labelled 'Bruce Wayne, CEO'.

"Come in." Clark pushed the door open, stepping inside Bruce Wayne's office.

A brief glance around - shocked him? He wasn't entirely sure what he was expecting from the place ( _Gold statues of Wayne, or girls on poles_ his mind suggested) but this was understated and modest and entirely not Wayne-like.

And then there was Wayne himself, looking perfectly put together and utterly at ease.

Clark resisted the temptation to smooth his hair back (Why did Wayne make him feel like such a country bumpkin?) and moved to stand in front of the desk. Even from this apparent position of power, looking down on Wayne, he felt utterly out of control of the situation. Wayne's eyes were sharp blue and fiercely scrutinising, and in that instant Clark knew exactly what lab rats under observation must feel like.

It was the very same instant that he realised there was no way in hell Wayne was actually as dumb as he pretended to be.

The sudden realisation threw him, and he almost forgot what he was doing. It wasn't until Wayne raised a single, perfect eyebrow and said, "So?" that he suddenly came back to himself.

“I, um.” Eloquent as ever. “I’m here to tell you that I’m really not interested.”

“Yes, I know. I read the email.” Wayne seemed amused by him, and Clark had to force himself to speak through the blush creeping up his neck.

“Yeah, but – you’ve started sending me things – which I really appreciate, by the way, and I’m flattered by it all and everything – but I don’t want to go on a date with you, and I feel guilty taking the gifts knowing that I’ve said no. So, um. Can you please stop?”

Wayne regarded him with a look somewhere between amusement and smugness. “You aren’t interested.” He repeated, then followed up with, “In me, or men in general?”

“Um –“ Clark was a little thrown by the change in conversation, and honestly by the entire conversation in general, and he had to stop and look out the window behind Wayne to regain his composure “- you.”

It felt so rude to say aloud, and Clark almost felt bad until he remembered Wayne practically made his living off of not giving a shit.

"Alright, then." Wayne definitely sounded amused now, and god he looked smug.

"I'm just - going to go." Clark turned tail and practically ran from the room, only letting out the breath he hadn't realised he was holding once he reached the safety of the elevator.

Holy shit. Bruce Wayne wasn’t just another dumb socialite. He was actually smart, and he had to actually be running the company, and holy shit there had to be a good story in this.

Maybe he shouldn’t have turned down that offer of a date after all – he might need an interview.

***

"Hey - did you know Wayne has a kid?"

Lois looked up at Clark with a frown. "I want to tell you stop stalking him, but at the same time it's kinda cute that you're so obsessed." She said. "No, I didn't."

"He actually has - had - two. Adopted. Richard Grayson and Jason Todd. But Todd died two years ago, and Grayson's over in Blüdhaven now, working for the BCPD." Clark leaned back in his chair with a frown. It was kinda weird, really - the thought of Bruce Wayne as a father. He wasn't exactly the most ideal role model - at least, the way he was shown in the papers. But Clark was learning that maybe what was shown about Wayne in the papers wasn't exactly accurate.

He shrugged on his coat, pushing his chair in. Lois eyed him. "Heading out?"

"For a story. Someone I have to talk to."

***

BCPD Detective Richard Grayson was not what Clark expected.

"Hi - Detective Grayson? I'm Clark Kent, with the Daily Planet."

Grayson gave him an easy grin, not the kind that Wayne gave but instead a genuine smile. Clark found himself instinctively liking the guy.

"Call me Dick, please. Everybody does."

Honestly, he didn't know what he'd expected. A carbon copy of Wayne? Another sleazy smirk, another perfectly tailored suit?

But this kid with a smile and a laugh was the last person he would have ever expected Wayne to raise.

"So, what's this about? Must be something big, for you to come all the way over from Metropolis."

Clark hesitated a moment. What was the best way to subtly say _I’m pretty sure your adopted father isn’t actually dumb because I’ve been internet stalking him_? "This is actually about Bruce Wayne."

"Right. So you've found my deep, dark secret." Dick laughed, but Clark saw the open shutters behind his eyes shut up tight. "Yeah, I was adopted by Bruce when I was nine. He was kinda distant, though, and he wasn't really a great dad. We just sorta lived in the same place."

If Clark couldn't hear heartbeats, he might honestly have believed Dick. The kid was a great liar, but no one could control their heart rate. A brief jump like that? Clark had his proof about Wayne.

Clark considered briefly the possibility of lying to Dick to get what he wanted, but decided against it – the guy was a cop, after all, and even though Dick had already lied to him it felt wrong to lie back. Besides, Clark tended not to lie where he could (and he saw the irony in that perfectly well, thank you very much).

“He’s smarter than he acts, right?” Clark pressed, only belatedly realising that _this was probably a terrible idea if Wayne was smart so was his kid_ but unashamedly continuing anyway. “I just want to find out the truth. Why does he pretend to be dumb?”

Dick regarded Clark for a moment, gaze piercing, and for the first time reminded Clark of Wayne. He had to be right. There had to be more to Wayne.

"Bruce might have adopted me, but he's still just a rich guy who wanted to feel better about all his money. I wish I could tell you otherwise, but there's nothing more to him than that."

So it was going to be like that. Clark thanked Dick and headed back out into Blüdhaven.

Okay, so speaking to the son was mostly a bust, but at least it had pretty much confirmed that there was something more to Wayne. Clark just needed to try harder to find the truth.

***

_Search Daily Planet Archive: **Bruce Wayne**_

_Results: 1 – 10 of 539_

_Sort by: Most Relevant_

_ Philanthropist Couple Shot Dead, Leaving Son, 8 _

_ Bruce Wayne: A Billionaire At 18 _

_ Bruce Wayne Spotted in Gotham Club _

_ Where is the Heir to the City? Bruce Wayne Missing _

_ 1 Year On: What Happened to Gotham’s Prodigal Son? _

_ Bruce Wayne is Alive! Billionaire Makes Dramatic Return to Gotham _

_ Missing For 6 Years: We Sit Down With Returned Billionaire Bruce Wayne _

_ Wayne Enterprises Rises in Stock Markets _

_ Bruce Wayne Adopts Boy Orphaned in Tragic Circus Accident _

_ Billionaire Donates Millions to Metropolis Rebuild Effort _

***

Clark flicked back and forwards between the articles in the Daily Planet archives. They weren’t all published specifically by the Daily Planet – some were from the magazine off-shoots of the company, which was why there were a few tabloid clickbait headlines included. But he was getting more and more frustrated, because when you read them all, it summed up to one fact – Bruce Wayne had been smart before he vanished for 6 years.

 _Bruce Wayne: A Billionaire at 18_ detailed his excellent grades all through high school, graduating valedictorian of his class. It even included a transcript of the speech he gave, which was powerful, moving, and very un-Wayne-like. In the interview for the article, Wayne came off as intelligent, articulate, and almost – serious? At least, he seemed to take the city and his business very seriously.

He and Batman would get along well, Clark thought irritably. They’d probably deserve one another.

Then Wayne vanished for 6 years. Totally inexplicably – one night, he was seen partying at a club, and the next day – gone. Rumours abounded, of course – murder, kidnapping – Clark’s personal favourite was the one where he’d left his life of excess to join a simple monastery hidden high in the Himalayas. After 3 years, he’d been declared legally dead and life had gone on.

And then one day, 6 years after he first went missing, dead billionaire Bruce Wayne landed in a private jet in Gotham International Airport and sent the city into a frenzy.

The first interview upon his return was featured in a tabloid off-shoot of the paper; the article _Missing for 6 Years: We Sit Down With Returned Billionaire Bruce Wayne_. And wow, Wayne was different.

Clark knew from personal experience that travel changes you. But usually for the better – not into the caricature of wealth Wayne suddenly became upon his return. What happened to him? Why did he suddenly feel the need to pretend to be another dumb socialite?

Clark wasn’t getting anywhere with this. Time for a step up in reporting.

***

 **From:** c.kent@dailyplanet.com  
**To:** brucewayne@wayne.enterprises.com  
**Subject:** Flowers

Does that offer of dinner still stand?

***

By the time 7 rolled around, he was panicking about his tie of all things. He had a nice enough suit, because he had to semi-fit-in with the crowds at events, but any fashion sense he'd ever had had decided to desert him and should he be wearing the blue tie or the red tie?

A sharp rap on the door startled him, and he decided blue on the spur of the moment. Lois always said it brought out his eyes, which really wasn't something he needed to worry about for tonight but just seemed important.

He messed with the tie, trying to get it right while at the same time trying not fall over anything while waking to the door. "Uh - hi." He smoothed his tie down as he opened the door, a little taken aback to not see Bruce Wayne. But of course - Bruce Wayne didn't go knocking on doors. He paid people to do that sort of thing for him.

"Mr Wayne's downstairs in the car, sir."

***

Clark felt like he had whiplash from the sudden change.

When he'd last met Wayne, the man had been nothing but smug and suggestive. But the car trip to the restaurant had been quiet - not uncomfortably so, surprisingly - and Wayne had been nothing but respectful so far. He'd even pulled Clark's chair out for him to sit down, which made him a little uncomfortable. He was used to being the one doing that. They'd ordered with little discussion, Clark picking the blue cheese ravioli, Wayne the eye fillet steak.

And now Wayne was just watching him quietly from the other side of the table, a slight quirk to his lips and his blue eyes sharp. Clark broke the silence first.

"I have some questions here I'd ask you, if that's okay?" He proffered his recorder and notepad.

"I thought this was a date?" The amusement in Wayne's voice was back, but this time it had a dangerous undercurrent of something more, of something - darker. "No recorder, but I'll answer questions. We can make it a game - a question for a question."

The way he smiled made Clark question the life choices that had lead him here, but all the same he agreed.

"Okay, Mr. Wayne -"

"Please, call me Bruce. We're having dinner together."

Clark shifted in his seat a little uncomfortably, but nodded. "Bruce." He decided to lead with a left-field question, throw Wayne from the start. "You claim to be a terrible business man and CEO - how do you account for the fact that Wayne Enterprises has risen 5 points in the stocks market in the last six months?"

To Wayne's credit, he didn't show the slightest hint of concern at the question. "Oh, I have excellent business advisors." He said. "They tell me what I should do, which dotted lines I should sign on." He leaned in a little, a hint of a smirk on his lips. "Now it's my turn. Why did you speak to my son about me?"

Clark was expecting a misleadingly dumb question about his life, or job, or relationship status, and was kinda thrown by the directness. But, choosing honesty over lies on principle (and also because he knew he stood about a snowball's chance in Hell of out-lying Wayne), he said, "Because I think you aren't as dumb as you pretend to be, _Bruce_." Also, intentionally or not, Wayne had just given away the fact that he and Grayson were closer than they pretended to be - and that only served to fuel Clark's desire to find the truth. He leaned in as well, matching Wayne. "Where were you for the six years you were gone?"

"Here, there, everywhere. I enjoy travel, you see." Wayne tilted his head slightly, eyes bright and alive in a way they never seemed to be in paparazzi photos. "Do you like travel, Clark?"

Clark had to shake the feeling that Wayne seemed to know something. "Sure. Doesn’t everyone?” He leaned in slightly closer. "Where exactly did you travel?"

“South America, Asia, Africa, all over the place. I spent a lot of time in this wonderful retreat in Vietnam – I can give you the name if you like.” Closer. “Why did you become a journalist?”

“I wanted to tell people the truth. And I wanted to change the world.” Closer. “Your grades in high school were excellent, and you were valedictorian of your class – how do you explain that?”

“When you have money, people give you things.” Wayne said with a flippant smile. “Are you attracted to men, Clark?”

“I don’t feel comfortable answering that question.” Closer. "Why do you pretend to be so dumb?"

"Why do you care about me so much?"

"Why do _you_ care about me so much?"

Their faces were close now, too close, dangerously close; Clark didn't even dare let himself think about what might have happened if their food hadn't arrived right then.

Wayne leaned back in his chair with a slight smirk on his face, as though he'd won some kind of victory. Clark didn't want to think about what it was.

***

The meal done, they stepped outside. Wayne sent Clark out alone, so he could pay the bill; little use, since Clark just glanced through the wall at it. The cost was hardly surprising (though he felt no guilt whatsoever at making Wayne pay) but the tip was. Wayne tipped a solid fifty percent on top of an already hefty bill.

He didn't even have time to process this, though, before Wayne was out and standing beside him. Wayne's car pulled up to the curb, and Clark eyed the other man suspiciously. "Is this the bit where you invite me back to your place?"

Wayne just blinked once, slowly. "I was actually planning on dropping you back at your apartment, if that's okay."

"Uh - yeah."

***

10:48pm  
Unknown Number: _I had a nice time tonight. We should do it again sometime._

10:49pm  
Clark: _id have to think about it_  
Clark: _wait this is Bruce right? how did you get this number_

 **_Bruce_ ** _saved to contacts_

10:49pm  
Bruce: _I googled you. It wasn’t difficult._

10:50pm  
Clark: _yeah but the only number online is my desk phone on the planet website_  
Clark: _this is my cell_

10:51pm  
Bruce: _Dinner again sometime?_

***

"Okay, so let me get this straight." Lois was obviously having the best day of her life right now. Clark was not. "Not only did you go on a date with Bruce Wayne, but you’re also seriously considering going on a second one?” She narrowed her eyes at him. "Did you sleep with him?"

"What? No! Just - keep your voice down." Clark was grateful right now for the fact that no one else in the office had super-hearing.

"Alright, Mister-I'm-Not-Dating-Bruce-Wayne." Lois was trying to hide her smirk, but it was not working.

"Seriously, Lois. I'm just - scoping him out. I'm an investigative reporter - it's what I do." And wow, Clark even had himself almost convinced that was the sole reason that he was considering going on the second date.

Not the fact that, once you stripped away the fake flirty demeanour, and the pretend dumbness, Bruce Wayne was actually an interesting person.

Not the fact that Clark always loved a challenge.

Not the fact that Wayne had nice eyes and a really, really great ass.

No. None of that.

(And his ass really _was_ that great.)

***

Though Clark ended up getting some good stuff from the ~~date~~ interview, it wasn’t enough for a full-scale in-depth article.

***

3:27pm  
Clark: _does next wednesday work?_

***

Two more ~~dates~~ _interviews_ happened before Clark felt like maybe he needed to admit he had a problem. To be far, though, this was only after Lois cornered him in the break room while he was making coffee.

“So, like, are you actually dating Bruce Wayne or what?” She said, jabbing at him threateningly with a teaspoon.

“No, Lois. They aren’t dates.” He stirred his coffee, making a face as he took a sip. “I’m interviewing him.” And sometimes it felt like Wayne was interviewing him back, which was more than a little intimidating and also a little hot. What was Wayne trying to work out about him?

“I don’t know, Clark. Three dates may be the most Wayne’s ever been on with one person – you might actually be his longest relationship.”

Clark snorted. “Uh huh. It’s just work.” Right at that moment, Clark’s cell phone buzzed. This was a rare enough occasion to merit a celebration, since Clark literally texted no one - he called when he had to, or emailed.

“Who’s –“ Lois started, but the question was answered by the way Clark scrabbled for the phone, reading the text and then flushing red. "Shouldn't you tell your boyfriend not to text you on company hours?”

***

1:53pm:  
Bruce: _I’ll pick you up at 7 tonight._

***

They’d been to three nice restaurants so far, but this was by far the most formal. Clark shifted uncomfortably in his seat as he stared down at the menu (it didn’t even have prices – he was pretty sure in places like this that if you had to ask the price, you couldn’t afford it). He spent time at flash functions sometimes, sure, but that was for work. Really up-market places made him feel... out of place, like at any second the maître d' was going to realise that he came from a town named Smallville and boot him out quickly.

He tensed his jaw, looking up from his menu to Wayne to consult on what was best and pretend that he was loving this. But Wayne wasn't looking at his menu - he was looking straight at Clark, menu flat and shut on the table before him.

"You hate this." It wasn't a question, but Clark tried to save face anyway.

"No - not at all - it's a lovely restaurant." There, kinda neutral, not really lying. But Wayne just pushed his chair back and stood up.

"Come on. We're going." Clark scrabbled his jacket back on quickly, hurrying after Wayne.

"We can't just leave -"

"Why not? We just did. You hated it in there, anyway."

Clark stared at Wayne for a moment, before surprising himself by laughing. "Okay, maybe a bit. I'm probably a bit small-towny for a place like that."

Wayne stuffed his hands in his coat pocket, surveying the street they were on. Then the corner of his lip picked up in a slight smirk, and it was somehow much worse than any other time Wayne had smirked before because this had thought behind it, and a plan.

Wayne was plotting, and it made Clark both nervous and kinda turned-on at the same time.

"We'll go somewhere more suited to your reporter disposition then."

***

Clark liked to live by the motto 'you learn something new every day'.

Example: today, he’d learnt that Bruce Wayne looked ridiculously, devastatingly attractive eating a Big Mac while wearing a waistcoat and rolled-up shirtsleeves.

He blinked suddenly, aware he was staring, and focused intently on his burger.

"Clark. Clark?" He looked back up at Wayne, who seemed a little amused by him - to be fair, he seemed to be amused by everything. Wayne tapped a spot on his own cheek, and Clark immediately embarrassed himself by cleaning the wrong side of his face. Wayne rolled his eyes, huffed an "I'll get it," and leaned over, wiping the spot of sauce off of the corner of his lip.

As if that wasn't bad enough, he then proceeded to lick the sauce off of his thumb as though it were no big deal. Clark shifted uncomfortably in his seat for the second time that night, though this time it had nothing to do with his surroundings.

***

"Drop you home?" Wayne said later, leaning back against the car.

"Bruce, I - I just wanted to say I actually had a good time tonight. Thank you." Clark gave Wayne a smile, hands in his pockets.

"Outside McDonalds isn't normally the place I hear that." Wayne's eyes were unreadable as he stood upright, and wow, he was much closer than Clark had thought. Like a man in a trance, he leaned in slightly as Wayne did too and suddenly -

The kiss tasted like Big Mac sauce and salt and _Bruce_ , and it was the best damn kiss Clark had ever had.

Bruce pulled away, eyes as far away as they had ever been. "I'll drop you home now." But as he turned away, Clark saw a hint of a smirk.

(In his reporter's brain, he filed that under 'hopeful'.)

***

Later that night, Clark Kent jacked off to the thought of Bruce Wayne’s lips on him.

***

“You are being weirdly quiet about your _interview_ last night.” Lois said the next morning, eyeing Clark over the top of her coffee. “And you’re smiling more than usual.”

“I’m always smiling, Lois. And besides, it’s a lovely day.” Clark said cheerfully.

“It’s raining, Clark.”

“I’m sure it’s a lovely day somewhere in the world.”

Lois narrowed her eyes. “He kissed you, didn’t he.” It wasn’t a question. “Or you kissed him, or something – something definitely happened. You two had a moment.”

Clark gave her a blithe smile. “We just went to a nice restaurant for the interview.”

“Yeah?”

“They had really good burgers.” He left it at that, leaving Lois to her fuming from the other side of the desk. He was pretty sure that if she had heat vision, right now he’d be nothing more than a grease spot on his chair.

The thought just made him smile more.

***

It was after the next date that Clark had somewhat of a realisation.

Somehow, even after he’d been on five dates (because they were dates, really, not ‘interviews’) with Bruce Wayne, and even kissed him, he’d still manage to convince himself that this was strictly professional. But who was he kidding? He hadn’t asked a single work-related question on the last two dates – he hadn’t even thought about work on them.

The Bruce Wayne exposé file was slowly moving further and further into the depths of his computer – the last time he’d opened it had been after the third date to add two sentences.

 _Holy shit_ , he realised, stepping out of the restaurant, _I’m dating Bruce Wayne_. It had just kind of – slowly happened, like drowning in quicksand or pouring out molasses. Suddenly, his head was under and he couldn’t breathe. Suddenly, his hands were covered and the cows were coming a-running.

“Clark? Are you alright?” Bruce was saying, and Clark looked at him and it was like he was seeing him for the first time.

“I am more than alright.” He said, smile dancing at the corner of his lips. He leaned in closer to Bruce, breathing in his air for a moment, before meeting his lips. “I am great.” He mumbled.

Bruce pulled back slightly, a smirk in his eyes. “Oh, I know.” Then his lips were back at Clark’s, strong, aggressive, backing him up until his back was against the wall and _Christ_ Clark had never been kissed like this before. Bruce kissed like it was a competition – and like he was going to win. They parted briefly, Bruce smirking that lopsided smirk again, before starting down Clark’s jawline to his neck.

“Bruce – we’re – public –“ Clark tried for coherent, but that effort was totally ruined by Bruce biting at his neck, “ - holy shit.”

Bruce pulled back, smiling a predatory grin in the darkness, more predatory than any Clark had ever seen – and he’d seen Batman smirk. “It’s nice to know I’m having an effect.”

***

Clark would never admit it, but he found himself counting down the days to the next date.

***

"Bruce, why do you do it?"

They were at a kebab place in downtown Gotham, tonight; it felt weird being in a different city for a date, but Clark was okay with weird. Weird was good. Weird was all he had.

And he'd finally asked the first question, the most important question of all, the question that had lead him here. He'd never gotten a real answer, but tonight - tonight felt different. Hopeful.

"Why do I do what?" Deliberately as obtuse as ever.

Clark made eye contact with Bruce, trying to keep his eyes soft and open. "Why do you play dumb all the time?"

Bruce let out an ever so slight sigh, and suddenly looked so much older than he'd ever looked before. "Clark, you couldn't possibly understand the reasons behind everything I do." And all of a sudden the look in his eyes, that faraway gaze made sense to Clark - soldiers called it the thousand-yard stare. How did Bruce Wayne get so jaded? "You live in a world where reporters can make real change. You live in a world where a man can fly and punch through walls and shoot lasers out of his eyes." It was a little disconcerting being abstractly mentioned in conversation, but Clark did his best to act naturally. "Gotham is different. Gotham has a Batman. Everyone wears a mask in Gotham. Sooner or later, you'll work out that not everyone has your best interests at heart."

It was an odd mixture of threatening and intriguing, and Clark almost forgot Bruce hadn't answered his question.

***

"So I'm guessing I'm finding my own way home tonight?" Clark said later, outside the restaurant.

"I had something else in mind." Bruce said, pulling Clark in for a long, lingering kiss.

***

In every touch that night, every kiss and gasp and moan, Clark could taste goodbye.

Was it bad that he enjoyed being used like this anyway?

***

Bruce was long gone by the time Clark awoke the next morning, hair rumpled and eyes foggy. Sunlight streamed in through the huge glass windows overlooking a lake, and he might actually stop to admire the view if he wasn't running late. He pulled on his pants and was just shrugging on his shirt when Bruce entered the room again, adjusting his cufflinks and barely even sparing Clark a glance.

Immediately, something felt off.

"Bruce, I -"

"I've phoned the Planet and let them know you won’t be in today - don't worry, I didn't go into detail. I said you collapsed yesterday and had to take a sick day." This was another side of Bruce Clark had never seen - terrifying cold and calm - and he found himself briefly wondering how many sides there were, just how many masks Bruce Wayne had to wear.

"I trust you'll refrain from writing any news articles about me, now? I find blackmail distasteful, but it is effective, and I think your career could take a heavy blow if people find out you slept with me during your 'research'."

Clark's mouth tasted bitter, like the last dregs of coffee or the end of summer or saving the crops but drowning someone else's horses. All he could manage was a nod. "I understand."

"Alfred's in the kitchen when you're ready to leave. He'll take you to the ferry." And like that, Bruce vanished, leaving Clark to pick up the pieces of his heart.

***

_Delete BruceWayneInfo.docx?_

_._

_._

_._

_Yes_

***

"Okay, this is really weird. Your phone hasn't buzzed once this morning, and you are being way too quiet." Lois declared the next day.

"I'm not feeling well at the moment." Clark said. Right now, he'd define his mood as that meme he'd seen online once, the one with the closed fist that he thought was from that Arthur show?

"That's bullshit." Lois lowered her voice, then added, "You are literally an alien. You don't get sick. Besides, I saw our friendly local hero fly overhead last night looking perfectly okay."

Clark screwed his eyes up, rubbing at them. "I don't want to talk about it." Lois looked like she was about to launch into another tirade about openness and how talking about problems helped, and he cut her off with a tired frown. "I'm serious, Lois. Just - not today, okay?"

He was just - tired, and angry, and missing Bruce. Not working yesterday meant he'd done nothing but mope all day, hoping that Bruce might call or text or do _something_. He'd take courier pigeon right now if it meant contact from Bruce.

This was dumb. How did he get so attached to him? They went on a few dates, and then Wayne loved him and left him like he did with everyone else. Had he really not seen this coming?

How fucking naïve was he? How fucking small town did Wayne think he was? He didn’t need Wayne. Wayne could go to hell for all he cared.

He spent the rest of the day glaring at his computer screen and trying to convince himself that this was his real opinion.

***

Clark almost slammed his apartment door shut when he arrived home, but just caught himself. He pushed it carefully closed instead, too carefully, the kind of careful you get when you’re so angry your stomach _hurts_ and your vision _blurs_ and everything is _wrong_ –

Clark took a long slow breath, sliding down the door to sit at the base, eyes blurry and stinging. How did it even get to this point? It would have been better if him and Wayne had never met again, if their only meeting ever had been that one time at Luthor’s party, and god his head hurt when he thought about the memories he was missing –

There was something wrong with that night. Something wrong with the memory. After he’d come back, he’d mostly pieced together everything that’d happened before, like the way he’d left the party early to save a girl from a house fire in Mexico (though normally he hated being filmed, in this case it was a godsend), the way him, Batman and Diana had teamed up to stop Doomsday (the media’s name for that _thing_ , not his), the way he’d been stabbed in close proximity to Kryptonite which had meant his enhanced healing couldn’t kick in. Lois had been able to fill in the details of his personal life during that time, too. But the party remained a giant blank patch, with only the faintest of details remaining.

He remembered catching a glimpse of Diana. He remembered Luthor’s speech. He remembered meeting Wayne, and then – there was something else there. Something big. Something huge, something important.

He scrubbed his hands over his face, screwing up his eyes and _concentrating_. Then it hit him.

Holy shit.

Wayne had been wearing an earpiece, and Clark had overheard the conversation.

Wayne had been stealing information from Luthor.

Wayne had been investigating Luthor because –

Holy shit. Bruce Wayne was Batman.

***

In the last twenty minutes, Clark had been through all seven stages of grief without actually having anything to grieve over, except maybe his dignity.

 **Shock:** What in the actual fuck. His brain just felt kinda numb. He’d fought Doomsday with Bruce Wayne. He’d been on a date with Batman. Bruce Wayne had tried to kill him. Batman had kissed him.

 **Denial:** No goddamn way. He googled Bruce Wayne and spent a few minutes scrutinising his face. There was no way Bruce Wayne could actually be Batman. Someone would have worked it out, right? He went to all these parties and things, someone would have noticed if he left them early all the time to brood over the city or whatever Batman did. And how would he even hide the injuries?

 **Bargaining:** _Lois will give me endless shit if it turns out I slept with Batman. Please, god, have mercy._

 **Guilt:** He’d tried to question _Batman_ about his motives. Batman had enough to deal with in his city, with the Joker and Catwoman and every other criminal that called it home. He didn’t need a dumbass reporter sticking his nose in where it didn’t belong.

 **Anger:** What the fuck, Wayne? You’d think he’d at least reveal his identity to his closest ally, especially since Wayne had tried to kill him. Bruce Wayne was a goddamn jerk and deserved to be alone forever.

 **Depression:** Bruce Wayne was going to be alone forever. He was deliberately choosing to isolate himself and have everyone see him as nothing more than a playboy, so that he could go out and save Gotham City totally unrecognised. He deserved accolades, not condemnation. Clark couldn’t believe he’d ever thought Batman deserved to be caught.

 **Acceptance:**  
6:09pm  
Clark: _we need to talk_

***

He tossed up whether or not to just fly over to Wayne’s – _Bruce’s_ – lake house, but eventually decided not to. Bruce didn’t know he was Superman, and he’d like to keep that as a trump card for the inevitable shitshow that was going to happen. Instead he flew to Gotham, taking a taxi out to the lake house.

Bruce still hadn’t replied to his text by the time he arrived, and the house looked empty. But a brief scan with his x-ray vision revealed two figures inside in separate rooms. Clark took a breath, told himself to put up or shut up, and knocked on the door.

It took less than ten seconds for Bruce’s butler to open the door, and Clark thought he saw a slight smile on Alfred’s face for just a moment, before it was replaced with that stiff English indifference.

“Evening, Mr. Kent. I assume you’re here to speak to Master Wayne? You’ll find him in the living room.” Clark gave Alfred a smile, making his way into the house before he could lose his nerve.

He knocked lightly on the door frame of the living room. At the table, Bruce was reading the paper and looked utterly indifferent and it was weird, because Clark could suddenly see how he was Batman. Like an image superimposed on top of the scene in front of him, he could see how Bruce Wayne’s hands could fight Gotham’s scum, how Batman’s mind made Wayne Enterprises one of the top companies in the stock market, how together Batman and Bruce Wayne came together to form one person – Bruce.

And he finally had an answer to the question that had lead him here, the first question, the only question – why did Bruce Wayne act dumb?

To save Gotham City.

“Mr. Kent, last time we spoke I believe I made our position clear.”

“Bruce, I –“ Clark hesitated, unable to find the words to fill the silence. Bruce filled it for him anyway, turning around and fixing him with cold, steady gaze. _Holy shit, that’s the Batman glare_ Clark thought absurdly.

“I made our position very clear. I don’t appreciate unwelcome visitors in my house.”

“Alfred let me in.” Clark had finally found his voice, and he could say it – five words, how easy would it be? – but instead he was filling the silence with nonsense.

“And I will be having sharp words with him. Please leave my home.”

It was now or never. The world stilled for a moment, holding its breath. Five words. Just say them.

“I know that you’re Batman.”

Silence. Stillness. Nothing but the thumping of his heart in his chest. His entire world right now had shrunk down to this room, this man, this moment.

Bruce at least gave him the courtesy of not pretending otherwise. The other man let out a slow breath, standing and walking over to look out the window, hands clasped behind his back. “How did you find this out?”

Clark swallowed thickly. Should he lie, say he worked it out from being around Bruce? But Bruce had given him the truth. He deserved the truth too. “Because – I’m Superman.”

Bruce turned his head slightly, giving Clark a stark profile view of his features. And – was Clark going crazy, or was he smirking ever-so-slightly?

“I know, Clark.”

***

Clark’s brain just kind of made a noise that went something like: _!!!_

***

The entire thing, as it turned out, was perfectly simple (at least, to Bruce’s mind). Bruce was not stupid. It was very easy to find out Clark’s real identity by taking a list of the civilians killed in the battle and finding out their mother’s names. He’d even attended the funeral, which Clark thought was nice.

But then Clark had returned from the dead, and things had gotten complicated. What if he were erratic, unstable? What if dying had changed him? Clark was a little offended by Bruce’s lack of faith, but could see his point. And honestly, he felt a little thick for assuming that Batman (paranoid Batman, always-thinking-ten-steps-ahead Batman) wouldn’t want to check up on him.

Apparently, the best way to do that was to proposition him for a date and then psychoanalyse him over dinner. Clark could kinda see the sense in it. Even if it was creepy as all hell that Bruce had been semi-stalking him to check he wasn’t about to lose it.

But the bit that got him was –

“Why more dates? You got what you wanted – you knew I wasn’t crazy.” Clark said across from Bruce. At some point, they’d ended up sitting down and talking. It would almost be nice, if not for the revelations of stalking.

“You’d worked out too much. I needed to keep tabs on your investigation of me.” And Clark might have almost believed it, if it weren’t for the fact that he knew Bruce always lied, always, and this one wasn’t even a good lie.

Because Bruce had let Clark in, had let him see the other side of him, the real side, the side that was actually _Bruce_ , and there wasn’t any way he’d done that by mistake. And the kisses – the sex – those were real. Those were true.

They couldn’t be hidden by clever lies or silver tongue.

“Bruce.” Clark said, simply, because nothing else could convey everything he wanted to say. “Oh, Bruce.” He stood, moving to kneel in front of Bruce, and Bruce’s eyes followed him the entire way. One hand found the back of Bruce’s neck, the other his cheek, and then he was leaning in and they were kissing.

The kiss outside McDonalds had been great, the kisses during sex even better. But this left them all behind. Bruce’s lips were soft and yielding, parting for Clark. His body was warm. His smile was sweet.

And his mouth tasted like home.

***

Gotham City, again. Late at night.

A figure crouches on a gargoyle on the edge of a roof, sharp eyes peering out over the city. A barely audible flutter comes from behind him, a slight crunch of gravel as someone lightly touches down on the roof.

The corner of Batman’s mouth picks up in a slight smile as a voice comes from behind him.

“Hey, B.”

Even Batman needs someone to go home to.

**Author's Note:**

> I was going to actually make fake news articles for the 'links' when Clark's researching Bruce, but then realised I was getting obsessive.
> 
> Also, something I'm really disappointed about not being able to work in is Lois sending a Buzzfeed quiz about whether or not Bruce Wayne would date you to Clark, because I figured it would be goddamn gold but it just didn't work.


End file.
